


one safe haven

by moonsandstar_s



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, NOT oscar/qrow bc thats gross, albeit not the usual kind, set after the v4 finale, this is ozqrow nevertheless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9588044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsandstar_s/pseuds/moonsandstar_s
Summary: When Ozpin speaks in his mind, it is often to tell him of his great destiny, of what he must do, of what lies in wait, and the terrible things that are coming. Other times, it is of his memories, vibrant and terrible things that blur through Oscar’s mind like pages caught in a high wind.Tonight, it is neither.





	

Ozpin had been silent for a while.

Ever since Oscar had boarded the train and left his farm, auntie, and Hazel behind, his head had been filled with silence. It was a welcome change— Ozpin’s constant nattering in his head was, admittedly, getting old— but it was unnerving. He’d become almost used to his incessant prattling, and without it, it felt like something was… off.

_I believed you did not wish to speak with me, Oscar. I can sense your disillusionment... your indecision at leaving your home and coming out here. It was a brave action on your part... though I know this is not what you wished to do with your life._

_Right,_ Oscar thought back with gritted teeth. _So now you show up, huh? I guess you’re not here to make pleasant conversation..._

 _No,_ Ozpin said, almost regretfully. _I wish it were so, but our paths twine in different ways._

 _Whatever you say,_  Oscar said.

 _Oscar, I'm not here to idly chat._ Ozpin sounded faintly sharp; Oscar could imagine him in his head, eyes piercing, back straight.  _A matter has come to light, one of most urgent importance. Do you remember the Huntsman I spoke of to you?_

_Yeah. Yeah, sure._

_Oscar, stop walking. He’s within the building in front of you. You have to speak to him, and you have to tell him,_ Ozpin said as Oscar stopped on the sidewalk, looking up at the sky, where the white Mistralian moon hung in a shattered pool.

“Tell him what?” Oscar scowled. “You haven’t even told me his name. Now you want me to go in here?” He looked up, uneasy. He was outside of a grimy-looking bar, and it was all but abandoned, with a solitary figure hunched over the bar within.

 _His name is Qrow. He almost died while you— while_ we— _were traveling to Mistral, but… I digress. You must go inside, Oscar._ We _must. There is so much to say._

“If it’s my body and you’re just hitching a ride in my thoughts, it’s _‘me’_ , not you.” Oscar hovered at the door, indecisive. It felt wrong to go in— not just because he was a minor, but there was a persistent part of him that was uncomfortable with every little bit of what he’d been doing lately. Running away from home, consorting with powers greater than he was, and now striding carelessly into some gross back-alley bar. Call it conscience, but either way, it was annoying.

 _Oscar, please,_ Ozpin said in his thoughts. _I am aware that I have asked much of you, but of all things urgent and all that matter, this is important. I promise you._ There was a note in it, faint and unrecognizable, that Oscar had never felt from the old headmaster before. It felt a bit like urgency, like when his auntie was yelling at him to hurry up with the menial farm chores, but a different sort— something more desperate and hurt in it.

 _I don’t understand why you expect me to make your speeches for you,_ Oscar thought back, faintly bothered. He knew he was being petty, but it was hard not to be. Especially after a disembodied voice in his head, from some crazy, dead headmaster he’d only ever heard about in the newspapers, forced him out of his comfort zone and into a lonely, dangerous wilderness, filled with people much greater than he was. Huntsmen and Huntresses and monsters seemed like towering myths compared to an inconsequential farmhand. _It seems like everything’s always ‘_ wait for it’, _or_ ’it’s complicated’, _right?_ He couldn’t help but be sour. _Because I’m the one who has to have a gods-damned ghost in my head. Whatever I’m supposed to be, it’s not this! Why do you want to keep playing this game, running me along a string like your puppet?_

_Believe me, it’s no game this time. I know you’re hurt. I know I have pushed you… perhaps far more than necessary, at times. For that, I apologize, but there is— you do not understand what is at stake. You have to tell him everything, Oscar. The memories I shared with you. The battle below the school, what transpired in the vault, the Maiden, and…_

The thought broke off, and faltered, and Oscar winced as a flash of pain shot through his head. Hard as it was to feel sympathetic for Ozpin sometimes, he could pity him now. It was hard to consider that he was technically dead. 

 _Fine, fine, I’ll go in. Don’t start crying on me. I don’t want to have an old man crying in my head._  
  
Rolling his eyes, he swung open the door.

 _Thank you,_ Ozpin said, his voice touched with genuine relief. That made Oscar feel a little less wary about the whole situation. _Go in and talk to him. He will not harm you._

He stepped into the bar hesitantly, dusty floorboards creaking under his feet, the door swinging shut behind him. “Hello?” Oscar said, his voice sounding high-pitched and young in the silence. The Huntsman instantly snapped around in his seat, and Oscar’s feeling of surprise and fear battled with Ozpin’s… whatever he was feeling. Oscar didn’t really want to discern what it was, but it made his heart sound too loud in his ears.

 _What exactly am I supposed to be saying?_ Oscar thought as he walked forward. _This guy looks scary. He could probably snap my neck in less than half the time it takes to say my own name. He’s all scarred up and he looks… angry. And tired. Wait, didn’t you say he almost died a little while ago? Why is he in a bar, instead of resting in a hospital or something?_

Ozpin sounded exasperated. _In that last sentence, you have captured all my frustrations with this man, and you’ve effectively encapsulated his thought process. If there’s one thing that keeps him alive, it’s his love for a drink. But he will not harm you, Oscar. I can promise you that much._

 _He loves drinking, but what else, huh? You don’t seem like the type of person to hang around with alcoholics… or well, you don’t seem like you_ used _to be._

Oscar could sense Ozpin’s surprise. _As good of a question as any, I suppose. There’s always greater depth to a person than what you might see at first glance, Oscar. To answer your query, I believe it’s his love for his found family, and his profession. There are many things that make a person tick, and I think that you may find that if you look hard enough, every single person in this world has something they care about more than anything. Some people regress to terrible actions in a vain effort to protect themselves from losing what is dear to them, unwittingly costing themselves their humanity in the process. Even those with darkness in their hearts all have something to lose, Oscar._

_Whatever you say._

Oscar flinched nervously as he realized he had been staring wordlessly at the Huntsman— Qrow— for the past minute. The dark-haired warrior was looking at him like had more than a few screws loose.

“If you’re going to just stand here and stare at me, we might have a problem,” he rumbled. “I’m not here for you to gander at.”

“Sorry,” Oscar apologized hastily. “I’m not here for that, sir. I’m actually here on behalf of someone else.”

“Spit it out,” Qrow said, eyes narrowed.

 _Tell him who you are,_ Ozpin murmured. _Tell him about the night Beacon fell, and—_

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’d like my cane back,” Oscar said instead, cutting Ozpin off. He could almost feel the headmaster sighing in his mind, and he smiled. He knew he was being petty again, but it was so easy to mess with someone so formal, and if he was going to be plunged headfirst into some crazy new life, the least thing he could do was poke a little fun at it. “I don’t think he’s real happy about the fact that you, you know, stole it out of Beacon Tower. And I don’t think you really know how it works, either. It’s not just to help me hobble around like some invalid.”

The Huntsman froze, as if Oscar had struck him, before saying slowly, the syllable pronounced with shock, “ _Oz?”_

“I also go by Oscar.” Oscar’s confidence wavered as the Huntsman continued to openly gape at him. He could imagine who Qrow saw standing there in his place— he knew what Ozpin looked like; after the headmaster had started yammering in his head, he’d dug up old newspapers to see who, exactly, he was— and he knew that in his place, the Huntsman was seeing the shadow of flyaway silver hair instead of his own rumpled black hair, a taller, more noble stature, coppery-gray eyes instead of mottled, ugly ones, the color of withering grass and leaves.

“Well,” the Huntsman exhaled on a long sigh. “There’s a great deal of things I didn’t expect to see tonight, and I can say with certainty you’re one of them. Oz told me about his little mind-jumping power before. I didn’t expect him to crop up in some kid from Mistral who’s still wet behind the ears.”

Oscar ignored the insult. “To be honest, Ozpin doesn’t really seem like the type to be expected,” he informed the other man. “I wasn’t expecting a voice to start talking in my head, either.”

The Huntsman swallowed, an old scar on his throat bobbing with the movement. “So when did old Oz pop up in your mind, kid? You don’t seem like the type to have a headmaster talking in your thoughts.”

“Honestly? A couple weeks ago. It scared me, at first. I thought I was going crazy… but he doesn’t seem crazy. And he doesn’t seem evil, either.”

“He’s not evil, and he’s not crazy, for sure,” Qrow said with a frown, “but he’s not the kind old teacher I expect you think he is.”

Deep within the recesses of Oscar’s mind, Ozpin stiffened, and Oscar let out a sigh. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not as experienced as all you Huntsmen, but I’m definitely not an idiot. He’s not— possessing me, or anything. I’ve still got a say. But I wouldn’t let him in my mind if I didn’t trust him, at least a little bit. He doesn’t _seem_ bad. I know he’s not some innocent little schoolteacher, but if he wants to fight for what’s right, for the greater good of Remnant— well, isn’t it just my job as a good person to help him?”

“The greater good,” Qrow echoed, bitterness dancing in his eyes. “Well. I can _definitely_ see him inside of you.”

“He seems noble, in a way,” Oscar said reluctantly, and he could almost feel Ozpin’s surprise. "Don't you know that?" 

_Oscar, if I didn’t know better, I would almost go so far as to say that sounded like a compliment._

_Shut up,_ Oscar thought back. _I’m trying to talk._

Ozpin shut up. Oscar went on. “He’s not arrogant, really, but— self-sacrificing, and smart. If what he’s told me is true, I can see why he died trying to save Beacon.”

“He died because I didn’t make it back to the Tower in time.” The Huntsman considered his shot glass, tossing back the rest of the amber liquid in a neat flip of his wrist, but his eyes were full of pain.

 _I never blamed you for it,_ Ozpin’s voice said in Oscar’s mind, shattered with anguish, before he recomposed himself, evidently remembering that his voice was not one that was spoken aloud any longer. _Oscar—_

“He misses you,” Oscar said, and the whole room went still, Qrow’s back straightening in surprise, Ozpin’s every thought stiffening in Oscar’s mind.

“He misses you every day,” Oscar continued, his brow furrowing as he looked at the floor, trying to speak from himself and not the part enveloped by someone so much older and wiser than he was. “Every single day. I’m not him— I never have been— but I can feel it, you know? It’s like someone put a hole in my heart, and every day I wake up, it just gets a little bigger and a little deeper, and it never quits hurting. Some of his feelings change, like his hope or optimism, and sometimes his memories and the people in them come and go through my own mind— a woman named Glynda, a girl named Ruby— but the one thing that’s always constant is the way he misses you. 

"I'm not really an expert on this kind of thing, that's true... but I can try, can't I? It's hard to remember what normalcy felt like, in the middle of all of this. But feeling his humanity helps me remember. This is all so screwed-up and crazy, and I have a _ghost_ in my head, for gods' sake, but still... I'm not saying it to just say it, but he wants you to know. He misses you more than he misses life." 

 _Oscar,_ Ozpin said.  _That's enough._

“I could tell you to tell him that I miss him too,” Qrow muttered, his voice deeper than a growl, “but I expect he already knows, and you can’t really miss someone who failed you when you needed them the most. If I’d been there, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be gone, you’d still be back in your cozy little farm, and we’d all be a little safer. Not being there to save a man’s life— it’s not something you can make up for.” Qrow ran a finger around the frosted rim of his shot glass. “You should get out of here, kid, and take him with you. I don’t think there’s anything he’s got to say to me, not after the Fall.”

“You’re talking like I don’t know you,” Oscar snapped. “I don’t, not really… but if Ozpin’s a part of me now, then I _do_ know you, at least partially. Like I said, he's talked about a woman named Glynda, and a girl with silver eyes, and a bright, shining school... but I think I know you the most, from what he's said. It's not easy to have someone in your head, but the memories he's given me... I think I can trust you. If you’re someone he missed, you must be a good person.”

“Of course he would say that,” Qrow growled. “Ever the optimist— but I expect you know that by now. Always wanting to see the best in everyone, even when their worst far outweighed it.”

 _Oscar,_ Ozpin murmured. It was one word— one simple, unassuming word— but Oscar knew what he was asking for. Not demanding, but asking. Perhaps there was a part of him that pitied the old headmaster, or maybe it was just a part of him that wanted these two to get it over with, but he let Ozpin take over, their minds reaching a mutual equilibrium. With that, the headmaster’s words cascaded out of him, the anguish and urgency finding an outlet.

He knew how Ozpin felt, as the secondary one in a mind. He was not _important_ anymore. It was like looking out a small window, unable to move or do _anything_ except to think his own thoughts at Ozpin, and hope he listened. It required an immense amount of trust and faith, and for a moment, he could appreciate just how much trust the headmaster had placed on him.

 _Talk to him,_ Oscar thought _, but get it over with, will you? This feels weird. I don’t like it, and I want my body back in one piece, thank you very much._

 _I will,_ Ozpin thought back, his voice reverberating— louder, somehow, when he was solely in control. _Oscar?_

_Yeah?_

_Thank you._

 

* * *

 

Qrow looked down at him, and frowned.

The boy, Oscar, was gone— behind his eyes, there was Ozpin’s soul, not his. Physically, he looked the same— dark, tanned skin, tangled hair, the smooth, unhardened look of a kid who hadn’t yet learned the real way of the world, but his gaze spoke differently. There was the age of centuries there.

“Didn’t expect you to choose a Mistral boy, Oz,” he said. “Your options are a lot more limited now, aren’t they? This kid’s still softer than a kitten. Hell, I bet he can’t tell the hilt of a sword from the point, let alone try to save all of Remnant.”

“He’s scolding you,” Oscar— Ozpin— said, sounding sorrowful. “I can hear him, in the back of my mind… this is how I must sound to him all the time. Just a disembodied voice in my thoughts. It is a poor life, one that is confined to being something even more insubstantial than a spirit.”

“That is a terrible fate,” Qrow said at last, in agreement; his voice flat and inflectionless, “but it doesn’t matter. Why did you choose him, Oz?”

“You should know by now that the one who takes the obvious route is more the fool,” Ozpin responded. He sounded different, of course. The comforting rasp of his voice, the wisdom and the familiarity of his face, were all gone forever. There was just this short, uncertain boy from the farm, with his wobbly, youthful voice and his strange eyes— but he could hear Ozpin in him. His wisdom and the firm, certain weight of his words. “I’m sorry I could not tell you sooner, but this was the only way.” 

“You didn’t want to die,” Qrow burst out, whipping back around, his hand cracking down on the counter. “You _shouldn’t_ have died. If I had just—”

Oscar’s hand, with Ozpin’s weight in it, rested on his shoulder. “Blaming yourself only causes more harm in the end. No one wants to end their time on this earth, but it comes about for everyone… just a little later for me, that’s all.” His voice grew softer.

“Gods help me,” Qrow choked out, running a hand through his hair, closing his eyes, but he could feel hot tears pricking them— emotions that the alcohol had failed to eviscerate. “I can’t be talking to you like this. You’re dead and gone, and I have to live with the unbearable realization that you’re _gone,_ just like Summer and my team, gone as the person I loved and the savior we all needed. You’re _gone,_ swallowed up by the unescapable grip of death. You’re _gone_ , and the only thing I’ll ever see will be a pathetic copy standing in your place, a copy who isn’t you, whose life isn’t yours and never will be— one whose life will be kinder and safer, but a copy all the same."

“I’m sorry.”

It was spoken quietly, and Qrow looked up, biting back a heaving breath, spent by his grief. Ozpin, standing small in Oscar’s body, looked immensely old, and immensely tired, his eyebrows drawn down, hair cast over his eyes, strange, dappled shadows dancing over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I… I can make careful calculations, I can try to understand people and the way they tick… I can do everything I can to try and foresee all outcomes, but I always forget to account for emotions… always. I should not have subjected you to such grief. I never blamed you for anything, Qrow— not in this life, or any ones previous. Things have turned out heartbreakingly for you, and I’m sorry for that… but maybe this time, we can go our own way, and heal Remnant. Your path winds long, but I think you may find the end of it.”

The boy reached out, brushing his hand, his eyes so full of Ozpin that Qrow’s heart broke.

“Goodbye, Qrow,” he whispered, his voice full of finality, his face mournful, as he brushed Qrow’s hand before turning around and leaving the room of shadows and dancing firelight, the moonlight spilling in with the rush of cold night air as the door opened. Qrow watched him go, his heart beating loud in his throat, and he let out a quiet breath. A sense of bittersweetness filled him, and two words bubbled up and spilled out from the part of him that he kept under careful lock and key, unreleased except for the few dormant hours in which he slept soundly enough to dream.

“Goodbye, Ozpin.”


End file.
